Fractured
by Momma-Ran
Summary: The world as they know it is torn apart by bombs. Craig is the leader of a gang. Stan enters their territory half dead and is roped into being one of them. These are their adventures.
1. Lost Boys

The youth with black hair runs as fast as his legs will carry him. His breath comes in gasps, his lungs burning. Stan Marsh's injured legs and arms scream for relief. In the heat, his blood boils beneath his sweat-slicked skin. The landscape comes as a blur, he is barely able to navigate around trees and over obstacles.

Behind him the howls and snarls of his pursuers gets closer. The pack of wild dogs follows him, hard on his heels. Some get closer, nip at his ankles, before falling back with the rest of the pack. They are toying with him.

It hits Stan right then. He is going to die. _I don't want to die! God help me! _

A river comes into view. It is fast flowing and wide.

Hope flares up in Stan's chest. He would much rather the river kill him than the wild dogs behind him. They would eat him alive. The river is upon him faster than he thought it would be. Without hesitating Stan plunges into the water.

Cold locks Stan's limbs. He sucks in a deep breath of warm air as he is swept downstream. His mind shuts down as he goes into shock.

Rocks, tree limbs, and who knows what else tug at his clothing. The river is maybe four feet deep. If he puts his legs down, Stan will probably stop going downstream. _I don't want to die. _

Stan lets his legs sink. He gets stuck on the metal frame of a car with other debris. The youth forces himself to move towards the opposite shore. He drags himself onto the far bank. Looking back at the shore where the dogs were, Stan is surprised to see them pacing and whining. They don't follow him.

With a sigh, the noirette lays his head down and closes his eyes. Sleeping is a death sentence but he is just too exhausted to stay awake and tend to the dog bites that litter his aching body. When he passes out, Stan doesn't expect to wake up again. Its just not the world he lives in.

* * *

Token Black climbs the metal carcass of the tail end of an airplane. He uses his hand to shade his eyes from the bright sun. Nothing looks out of the ordinary in their territory. Then he spots the body beside the River. The dark-skinned youth scrambles down from the wreckage. "Body by the River." He tells his companion.

Clyde Donovan grimaces and follows Token closer to the river. They pick their way through the remains of a dead civilization to a well-worn dirt path. Both young men are all wiry muscle and tense shoulders. The two young men hide behind a highway sign, peering out from behind it.

Token grips the handle of his hunting knife. He scans the far bank for any sign of life. There is no sign of a threat. This close, Token can see the dark blood spilling out of the pale body. "Looks like the dogs got him." Token mutters as he brushes his dreadlocks out of his eyes.

Clyde nods. "Lets just get this over with." He rises first, steps out from behind the sign. Clyde squats and sticks a hand in the back pocket of the body.

Token hesitates a second longer before joining Clyde beside the body. It looks like someone about their age. He is waterlogged, arms and legs torn apart. "Dogs definitely got him." Using the toe of his boot, the dark-skinned teenager nudges the body's face out of the mud. "Holy shit, dude, its Marsh."

Clyde gets to his feet. "Marsh?" He asks.

Token notices that he is empty-handed. Looks like Stan wasn't doing too well. "Yeah. Stan Marsh."

The brunette sticks his thumbs in his belt-loops. "Damn. It is him." His eyes wander down to the torn pant legs. "Looks like his clothes are pretty much worthless. Nothing in his pockets, either."

Token sighs. He runs a hand through his short black hair. They have to dispose of the body before the dogs decide to be brave and cross the boundary. "We might as well bury him. Craig will probably want his bones for later." Token grabs the pale arms, ready to lift him out of the water.

Clyde shakes his head. "Craig is a sick fuck." But he goes into the water to grab the body's legs. "Too bad it wasn't a dog that washed up on our side. At least we could eat a dog."

As the two of them lift Stan's body, the noirette moans. In shock, Token drops Stan on his face. "Did you hear that?" He puts two fingers to the pale neck, feels a very faint pulse. "Clyde, god damnit, he's alive." The two look at each other, unsure of what to do. Normally they would kill a trespasser without hesitation. But they know Stan Marsh.

Finally Clyde reasons, "Craig might be mad if we don't bring him back." He picks up Stan's legs again, this time minding the dog bites as best he can. "Look at this fuck wearing converse." The brunette shakes his head in disgust.

Token doesn't say anything in response but he wonders how happy Craig will actually be about them bringing back another mouth to feed. He picks up Stan's arms. The blood makes it difficult to get a good grip. "Hopefully Craig is in a good mood." The two teenagers haul the body back to their camp.

* * *

Craig Tucker can feel the last of his patience slipping away as the Chinese-American teenager prattles on and on about Star Wars and if only he had his light saber. The droning voice grinds against his nerves. The glass cup in his hand is thrown across the room and shatters. "GET HIM OUT OF HERE NOW! IF THAT BITCHY NERD ISN'T GONE IN TWO SECONDS I'LL FUCKING KILL HIM!"

Craig hears Jason murmuring to Kevin, hears him struggle to pull the annoying teen away. But Kevin isn't budging. "Why should I? I have a right to say whatever I want to say."

Craig fingers the blade at his side, running his fingertips across the smooth handle. From outside the noirette hears his patrol returning. They walk into Craig's room.

Jason is still trying to get Kevin to shut up and leave. "Why is Craig even leader?"

Dead silence.

In a swift movement, Craig whips his knife from its sheath and throws it at Kevin. It slices open his arm. Craig's eyes glow electric blue. He touches a light socket and the entire place lights up. The power is too much for the old circuits, and the lights overhead burst. Sparks and glass rain down on the group of teenagers.

In spite of the pain he must be in, Kevin is staring at Craig with a horrified expression. He is crouched on the ground with his arms over his head.

Craig walks over to the pathetic youth. He leans down so they are face-to-face. "_That _is why I'm leader." This close he notices that somehow Kevin's face has escaped scarring. The noirette straightens and walks back to his desk. "Get him out of my sight."

This time Jason is able to get Kevin out of the room without a fuss.

The noirette turns to face Clyde and Token. "Anything to report?" His gaze drops to the body between them. He has no idea who it is or why they would think to bring a body here. "Who is this and why is it on my floor?"

Token speaks up. "We found Stan Marsh. He's alive." Craig takes in the dog bites, mostly around the lower legs and forearms. Judging by Stan's wet hair, he crossed the border. The noirette doubts that Stan will live much longer.

Craig sits down in his office chair and picks up a thin butter knife. "And?" He watches the two exchange looks, bored already with this conversation. There are things that need to be done and they are wasting his time. "Strip him and throw him back to the dogs."

"Craig, he's still alive!" Clyde steps forward. His expression is concerned. The brunette never did like to get his hands dirty. Its a weakness in their world. Clyde shoves his mousy brown hair out of his eye. This fucker can't even give himself a proper haircut.

"What use is he going to be?!" Craig sets down the knife he was playing with. "_If _he lives it will take weeks for him to heal. Even if his wounds don't kill him they will probably handicap him." Craig stands up. He's already has his leadership challenged once today. "I have no use for another mouth to feed, especially one that won't be able to feed itself."

"I-I-I'm not useless." Jimmy walks in through the curtain that serves as a door to Craig's room. His brown eyes glance down at Stan before looking the leader square in the face.

Craig rolls his eyes but doesn't argue. Although handicapped, Jimmy does have his uses.

"Come on, Craig. We're at an uneven number right now since Francis..." Clyde trails off. He shakes his head then looks into Craig's eyes. "If he proves useless we can always kill him. Or sell him."

Craig is not the first to break eye contact. He props his elbows on the desk and rests his chin on his hands. His eyes are glued to the unconscious figure on the ground. If Stan dies then they will have wasted time and resources. If he lives and is cripple, they will have wasted both of those as well. If Stan lives and isn't crippled? Well, he could be put to work. Clyde does have a point about their number being uneven. Craig doesn't like to leave anyone alone.

"Fine. He can stay for now." Jason comes back into the room. With all the bodies its getting hot in the space. "Get him out of here. Take care of him." Everyone except Token leaves. Craig leans back in his chair, waiting for the rest of the report.

"There wasn't anything on Stan." Token reports. "There were no other disturbances." He leaves at a dismissive wave from the noirette.

When everyone is gone, the noirette gets up and goes to his bed. Its just a little double pushed in the corner but its better than nothing. Craig sits on the edge, takes off his belt and his boots. He puts his knife beneath his pillow and he ties his shoelaces to his desk. The noirette lays on his back, staring up at the ceiling for a while thinking. Finally sleep can be denied no longer; Craig closes his eyes and falls asleep.

Craig wakes as the sun is crawling to its highest point in the sky. He puts his shoes and belt back on before heading down a well-worn trail to the River. The noirette pulls off his filthy t-shirt and puts it on an upturned flower pot. He pulls off his boots, sets them beside his shirt. His belt and knife follow. As Craig shrugs out of his jeans, naked beneath them, Tweek joins him. Craig unties his long hair, letting it hang freely to the small of his back.

The blond youth begins to unbutton his shirt. "I-I didn't think – nngh – you would keep h-him alive." Tweek comments.

From behind Craig comes the sound of a zipper. Craig can feel his companion's eyes on his bare body. He ignores it like he always does. Instead, he wades into the cold water. Its like a cold splash of reality every time he sets foot in the water no matter what the season is. "Clyde was right about us being uneven."

"Yet you go – ack – out without a-anyone else." Tweek retorts with a snort. He follows the noirette into the water. Tweek's pale scarred skin breaks out into goosebumps. "Fucking c-cold."

Craig ducks his head below the surface. He wishes he had soap – something as a kid he had taken for granted like so many other things – and some deodorant. The river tugs his hair to the side. "I'm leader. I'm allowed to do whatever I want."

Tweek is quick to drop beneath the surface of the water then pop back up. His short wet hair is flat against his head. He is shaking his head. "You made t-that rule s-so that we have a higher chance of – nngh – surviving." Tweek points out.

Craig sighs. Of course Tweek is right. He washes the grime off his body; dirt, blood, sweat, and some unidentifiable substance. Craig's gray eyes are glued to the lanky, scarred body of Tweek. They all have scars. Its unavoidable. He eyes the one on Tweek's right nipple. Well, most of them are unavoidable.

Tweek catches him looking and a light blush colors his freckled cheeks. "Do you ever think of – ack – before?"

The noirette gets out of the water, Tweek hard on his heels. "No." Nature is taking over the planet once again. In a decade it will look similar to ruins in South America. If there are even still ruins there. "This is our life now, Tweek. Surviving in this batshit insane hellhole that was made for us." They gather their clothes and wash them in the river. Eventually they will have to find or trade for more, Craig thinks as his finger slips through yet another hole in his shirt.

They lay their clothes out over the dead branches of the trees around them. Both boys sit on the shoots of bright green grass. Craig throws up an arm to the sky. "This is our inheritance."

Storm cloud eyes watch Tweek look around. Craig looks around too. This used to be a small scrap yard. Now there is a River running through it that was never there before the bombs. There are saplings, fresh spring grasses, and any number of other greenery growing. Hardly any of the trees that were here before are still alive. They are mostly skeletal hands reaching for the heavens. Occasionally there will be a chunk of sidewalk or road but for the most part its been covered in dirt and ashes.

Footsteps have Craig reaching for his knife. He feels Tweek reach for his crossbow. Both of them look in the direction of the sound. Clyde comes trotting down the path. "Stan is awake."

Craig gets to his feet. He pulls his mostly-dry clothes off the branches then works at getting them on. His belt with its knife and sheath go around his slender waist. His boots are laced up and knotted. Although his hair is still soaked, Craig ties it up in a pony tail once more. "Stay with Tweek until his clothes dry." The noirette orders as he strides up the path that Clyde just came down.

It takes five minutes to get to their base camp. Craig walks past his bedroom/office. He walks past the shelter that Jimmy, Kevin, and Jason share. He walks past the shelter that Token, Clyde, and Tweek share. The hospital wing is a small crater in the ground that they moved a 10x10 wooden shed above. This is where they keep what little medicine and medical supplies they have. Jason stands outside it, waiting for Craig's arrival.

Craig descends without acknowledging him. In one corner on the ground is a pile of assorted rags and blankets. Laying on the makeshift bed is Stan. A stake like one would use to keep a dog in a yard has been shoved deep into the earth. Attached to this stake is a pair of handcuffs, which are worn by the wounded noirette. Stan is significantly less dressed than when Craig last him. They must have got rid of his extremely worn and filthy clothing.

Stan glances over his shoulder at Craig. He doesn't seem to recognize the noirette. It has been a long time, after all. Before all this Stan Marsh had been in a coma. Apparently he woke up right before the world went to hell. "What do you want with me?" Stan's voice is soft and hoarse.

Craig suspects he hasn't been using it much. Craig crouches down beside Stan's head so they can look each other in the eye. "We saved your life, Stan. Now you work for me." Craig holds up a finger before Stan can protest. "Swear loyalty to me or die."

But Stan seems fixated on only one thing. "How do you know my name?"

Silver eyes notice the strain of keeping his neck twisted to look at Craig. Could the guys have made this look any more like a feast? Craig's eyes wander to Stan's firm, pale, bare ass. "We went to school together." When Stan begins shaking his head, Craig elaborates. "I'm Craig, Stan."

"Craig?" Stan finally turns his head to its proper position. "I'm farther north than I thought." He whispers more to himself than to the other noirette.

Craig grabs Stan's chin and forces him to look once again at the leader. "Swear loyalty to me or die. Those are your only options."

Stan's dark blue eyes search Craig's gray ones. "What will I have to do?"

"Be useful." Craig smirks. He can think of a use for Stan. The noirette doesn't remember blue eyes being so attractive when they were younger. But look at that smooth pale flesh, hardly marred at all except for his forearms and lower legs.

Stan closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He opens his eyes and exhales. "I swear loyalty to you, Craig."

"Good." Craig releases Stan's chin. He watches the noirette shake his head to ease the soreness of his neck. Now that Stan is one of them – more or less – Craig will have to find him clothes and get the guys to make him more comfortable. "There are two things you should know. One, I am leader. Two, the minute you stop being useful we will kill you."

Slowly the other teenager nods. He doesn't look pleased to be in this situation. "Alright." Stan agrees. "Who else is here?"

Craig counts them off on his fingers. "Clyde, Token, Tweek, Jimmy, Jason, and Kevin." My very own lost boys, he thinks to himself.

Stan hums. "Jimmy is still alive?" Apparently Jimmy hasn't yet come to see the new arrival. Then again, Jason may be keeping everyone away.

"Jimmy is good at using his walking sticks to beat people to death." Craig says it with a straight face. "He is also a good cook." Meaning that unlike almost everyone else there, Jimmy doesn't under or overcook the food they manage to find.

"Oh." Stan lays his head on the bed. "What about Tweek?"

"Tweek is good with a crossbow. I wasn't expecting that one either." The leader replies. He leans against the dirt wall. "He also speaks Mongolian."

A small smile appears on Stan's face. "Are you expecting to run into any Mongolian's?"

"No, but its a language not common." Craig fingers his knife handle. "We use it to talk when we don't want others to know what we are saying."

"It seems Clyde lost weight." Stan comments. So Clyde was in here after all. Maybe keeping an eye on the prisoner while Jason took a piss.

"He still weighs a ton. He's just all muscle now." Craig responds. The noirette stands up. "I'll send someone out to find you clothes and I'll let Jason know you don't need the handcuffs." Then he walks out before Stan has a chance to respond.

Jason is still outside. "I'm no doc, but I think he will be alright. The bites don't look infected. As long as we keep them clean they won't get infected either." The brunette reports.

"Good. Get those handcuffs off him." Craig pauses then, knowing that Stan can hear, adds, "I doubt he is going to be fucking stupid enough to run for it. Tweek would shoot him down before he got halfway through our territory."

Jason agrees before vanishing into the medic room.

Craig continues on his way, debating who to send out for a clothing run. He spots Kevin just sitting around and waves him over. "Tell Token I want you and him to go on a mission to get Stan clothes. Make sure they fucking fit him too." Ill-fitting clothes have never done anyone any good but its just downright dangerous to have them now. Too big and they get caught on things or fall off. Too tight and they restrict movement.

Craig goes to his room to retrieve his katana. He secures the sword across his back. Tweek is just getting back from the River with Clyde in tow. "Tweek, we're going hunting."

* * *

Stan resists rubbing his aching wrists. Its so good to be free. He sits naked on the pile of blankets that serves as bedding, legs crossed. His dark blue eyes follow Jason around the small room.

"Its nothing personal." Jason tells him, in regards to the treatment. "Craig is just cautious." The brunette comes up with graying bandages from seemingly nowhere. He returns to sit cross-legged in front of Stan and begins to bandage his arms. "Don't get on his bad side, stay useful, and you will be fine."

Stan pokes a long, thick scar on Jason's left cheek. "Is this fine?"

Jason wraps the bandage tighter than necessary. "I'm alive, aren't I? I'm not crippled. I have friends and I eat every day." Being gentler, Jason begins to wrap Stan's other forearm. "In my book that's better than fine."

The noirette doesn't argue. When its put like that, who can? He sticks out a leg when Jason requests it. "Why don't the dogs cross the river. Its not like its that deep or even all that fast." He winches at the pain in his legs. They hurt worse than his arms.

Jason doesn't hesitate to answer. "Because they know we will kill them if they do."

Stan doesn't say anything after that.

Just as the brunette finishes with Stan, someone else walks into the shelter. He is wearing a dress shirt that is missing most of its buttons. His long blond hair is spiky and looks like a permanent case of bedhead. "Craig w-wants us to go hunting." When the teen turns his head towards Jason, Stan can see that he's missing part of the cartilage of his right ear. "Hey – nngh - Stan."

Its only with the random noise that Stan realizes who this is. Tweek. He is shorter than Stan by almost a foot and covered in more scars than Stan has seen on anyone except Craig. Seeing the other noirette was terrifying, even before he knew it was Craig Tucker. Still, Tweek is lean with muscle that shows subtly. "Hey Tweek." Stan replies meekly.

Jason gets to his feet. He pulls a knife from his boot. "Where are we going?"

"Dog territory." Tweek replies with a scowl.

Jason sighs. "Fucking Craig. I guess this won't do me much good." The two leave without saying anything to Stan but he can still hear them talking.

Stan sits on his blanket wondering what he is supposed to do now. They still haven't brought him clothes.

Just as he is thinking that, another person comes through the door. "Still alive, I see." The deep voice of Token comments. Token is the most easily recognizable because of his dark chocolate skin. That, and Stan remembers the dreadlocks. Token has an armful of clothes. Or rags. Its difficult to tell.

At this rate everyone is going to see him naked. If they haven't already. At least he isn't handcuffed still. "Yeah. Are those for me?" Stan accepts them from the tall teenager. Token is easily the tallest person here that Stan has seen. There are several shirts, some mismatched socks, and a pair of pants. No underwear. Stan pulls on the jeans, pleased to see that they fit even if they do have holes in the knees. "These smell like shit."

"They came off of Francis." Token replies with a shrug. "Francis is dead." He adds when Stan doesn't make a connection.

Stan stares down at his new jeans. He pinches the bridge of his nose before shaking his head. Its not like he's never robbed a corpse before. Its not like corpses even care. "How did Francis die?" Stan holds up one shirt, decides its too big, and sets it down. The next is made for someone with boobs. Finally he finds a long sleeve shirt thermal that fits him. He tugs it on over his head.

"I killed him." Craig's voice causes both of them to jump. "Token, go with Clyde to Market. Get rid of those shirts. You know what we need."

Token nods. Stan barely has time to grab two socks before Token takes the leftover clothes and leaves.

Stan is beginning to see that people don't announce when they are going somewhere. No goodbyes for them. He holds the socks in his hands since he doesn't have any shoes. He wonders what happened to his.

Craig's long black hair looks a lot more fluffy now and less like a murder weapon. "Come on, we'll find you some boots."

Stan follows Craig out of the hole he's been kept in. The sunlight is painfully bright. He pauses to take in his location. There are four other shelters arranged in a circle around the dirt clearing. In between the building spaces are makeshift fences made out of everything from refrigerators pushed up against each other to a pile of wood. The only gap in the circle is on the other side of the clearing but it looks like a car hood can be moved there. Barbwire and pigeon spikes make sure that no one will try to mount an attack from up high. Here and there are patches of grass and other greens growing. Beyond the camp are the skeletons of dead trees and towers of old cars.

Craig calls to him, "Hurry up!"

Stan blinks and follows Craig into one of the smaller buildings. It is made with gutted old cars. Inside are boots, clothes, miscellaneous objects, and food. A rat scurries across the floor. There is a blur of silver and the rat has been cut in half. He turns to see Craig replacing a katana in its sheath.

"If you see a rat kill it and either bury it or throw the body across the River." There is a makeshift shelf out of a rotting piece of plywood that holds the boots. Craig is studying it, picking up boots and setting them back down. "We don't eat rats." He turns around and hands a pair of boots to Stan.

Stan accepts them without comment. He shakes one then the other before trying them on. Its a perfect fit. Go figure. The noirette follows the taller teen back into the sunlight.

Craig has already called over two teenagers. One of them looks more like an old man than a teenager. He is bald with deep red scars stretched across his scalp. He's also more than less hunched over on makeshift walking crutches so its difficult to guess his height. Stan guesses that this is Jimmy. Damn.

The other teenager has long limp black hair hanging in his face. The eyes that peek out from behind the curtain of black hair are almond shaped. He is of average height and seems a little chubbier than the others. He carries a metal baseball bat that looks like its taken quite its share of abuse if the dents are anything to judge by. Stan hasn't got a clue who he is until he ticks off the list of names Craig gave him.

"Kevin, there's a dead rat in the storage shed. Dispose of it." Craig is giving orders. "After that you and Jimmy are going on full border patrol."

Kevin storms off into the storage shed. Jimmy waits impatiently for him to return then they leave the camp. As Stan suspected they leave through the gap in the fence.

Craig gestures Stan to follow him. They go into a building that seems to have actually survived the bombs, though there are repairs. In it is a bed and a desk. That's it.

"What have you been doing?" Craig sits in the office chair, leaving Stan to either take the bed or stand.

Stan sits on the edge of the bed. "Wandering." He replies vaguely. If there is one thing he has learned, its not to give away too much information.

Craig picks up a butter knife and begins to play with it. "Do you have a group?"

Stan lowers his eyes. "I used to. But they...weren't the kind of people I wanted to be around." Absently he scratches at a bug bite on his shoulder. "I was with the guys. Kenny died early on. After that Kyle and fatass started stealing from people while they were asleep." The shame he had felt then seems silly now. That was how they were going to survive. There weren't enough of them to defend a place like this.

The tall noirette is nodding to himself. He has heard rumors at Market that there were some brave looters. "What did you do after that?"

"I told you, I wandered. For a while I was with my mom but she got her leg caught in a bear trap." Stan swallows. "So I had to leave her behind." His heart aches as he remembers his mother on the ground sobbing and begging Stan to save her. If she had survived, she would have slowed them down or got them both killed. "I've been on my own for...five years."

Craig makes a noise of acknowledgment. He tosses the knife into the air and catches it. "Where have you been? No one has seen you in five years."

The shorter noir watches Craig tossing the knife. "I know." Memories flash before his eyes. "I was in Arizona."

"Arizona." Craig's tone is void of emotion.

"I told you I wandered." Stan reminds him.

Craig sets the knife down on the desk. "Why Arizona?"

"Why not?" Stan counters. "I had no where else to go and no one I care about is alive." He rolls his sleeves up to help his burning arms cool off. Stan's stomach growls loudly. He doesn't remember the last time he had food and now that his adrenaline is really worn off, Stan is feeling weak. "Do you have any food I can have?"

Craig gives Stan a can of peaches and the hind leg of a dog. Stan sits on the dusty ground in the middle of camp, wolfing down the food like he hasn't eaten in months. "Keep watch." Is Craig's only order before he vanishes into his bedroom again. Their bedroom.


	2. Interactions

It takes a month before most of Stan's dog bites heal to shiny puckered pink flesh. He has full use of his motor skills. Aside from an occasional twinge of pain he is good as new. Therefore Stan has been able to keep busy and keep useful. He's gone patrolling, and to the Market. He has cooked, cleaned, and scavenged. Craig sends out everyone, rotating who they are with, every day.

These past few weeks have been difficult. He's had to learn the dynamics of the group and adhere to their strict schedules. Training every day, both with weapons and hand-to-hand combat. Learning to skin and butcher the animals they – mostly Tweek – bring back. Taking night shifts and learning what little Jason knows about healing – its amazing that Stan healed so well. They all take turn doing the different jobs but Craig is clearly the leader, even though he pulls his own weight.

Stan sits on a boulder, sharpening his machete. Its a lovely thing, only one nick in its blade. The sun is beating down on him much the same way it beat down on Stan while he was in Arizona. A breeze dries the sweat that rolls down his forehead. Flies buzz around the clearing where a skinned dog hangs from an old telephone wire.

Clyde and Kevin are leaving the camp. Jason and Jimmy are asleep in their room. Token sits beside him, sharpening his knife. Tweek is...somewhere.

Craig strides over to them, looking intimidating. "We're going to Market." The tall noirette tells Token and Stan. He strides away.

"Did you see anything on him?" Stan asks, his dark blue eyes following the tall form.

Token shakes his head, brushes back his dreadlocks. "Nope."

They stand, placing their weapons in their sheaths. Token leads the way out the camp. Stan trots behind the two taller teenagers. Sometimes he doesn't feel like a teenager. Having the world shatter beneath your feet adds at least ten years.

The trio picks their way through the old scrap yard. Cars pile up high on either side of them, creating a rusty maze of well-worn dirt paths. The paths being well-worn is on purpose so that intruders don't find the camp right away. They steps over a string of cat bells that is stretched across the path, meant to alert them in case someone or something finds its way here. In the cracks and crevices are weeds and grasses growing.

After the scrap yard is an orchard. Most of the trees are blackened to a crisp. The few that aren't burned are clearly dead. Stan doubts that their twisted branches have seen leaves in six years. The youth is amazed at the amount of dirt everywhere. Sure, its always existed, but it was usually in tidy little piles. Humans thought they could control the earth yet everywhere he looks, Stan sees the signs of rebirth. Nature is taking over again.

They skirt a barn and the surrounding fields. It looks uninhabited. No one has said anything about it, but there seems to be an unspoken agreement that they aren't to enter that territory. Stan guesses it must belong to someone else.

At the edge of town they pause. Its not South Park – probably – but its the closest gathering of people around. There are no names for places now. There is their territory, Market, the River, dog territory. Stan looks out over the broken, jagged teeth of the city. There is not a whisper of movement. The wind changes direction and the rank scent of old garbage and rotting corpses assaults Stan's nose.

Craig leads the way down the hill into Market. Stan follows him with Token bringing up the rear. Filthy people try to sell them things. They are ignored. Children that scurry like rats snarl at them and try to pick their pockets. Without hesitation Craig cuts off the hand of an offender. The child howls and the others give the group a wide berth.

A fat teenage girl dressed in a black dress far too small for her leans against a doorway. She waves at them, trying to catch their attention so she can drag them into the den of whores. Stan gets the feeling that he knows who she is but he can't quite place her.

Craig leads them to a faded red and yellow stripped tent. From inside there comes the tweeting and singing of many, many birds. "Wait here." Then he is gone.

"Are all of the girls there?" Stan jerks his head in the direction of the whore who is pulling a greasy looking man into the darkness beyond the doorway.

Token shakes his head. "No." He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Dark fingers wrap around the handle of his knife. "I have the feeling something bad is happening."

Token's ominous words have Stan reaching for his weapon too. He takes comfort in the rubber handle, knowing that with just a flick of his wrist he can have his machete out. The noirette strains to hear something but the chirping of birds from inside the tent drowns out whatever is being said. "Has he ever been in this tent?"

A frown tugs down the corners of Token's mouth. "This is where he rescued Tweek from."

Stan looks up at the large circus tent. It is old and faded, torn in some places. There is an eerie aura around it. Dark blue eyes notice that the feral children don't come near the tent. He glances back at Token. "Rescued?"

"It is not my story to tell, Stan." In response Stan frowns. "You will have to ask Tweek about it."

The noirette makes a note to ask Tweek. He isn't quite brave enough to ask Craig and isn't sure he would get an answer regardless. Time ticks on without any sign of Craig. Stan's feet start to ache. The sun is hot on his face. His mouth is as dry as the desert he lived in.

Stan's mind wanders. He imagines that the bombs never fell. What would his life have been like? Oddly enough, Stan can't think of what his life would be like. He doesn't imagine having friends or a girlfriend. He can't imagine going to college or getting a job or learning to drive. "Hey Token, how old are you?"

Token gives the shorter noirette a look. He uses his fingers to count. Finally, the teenager with dreadlocks shakes his head. "I don't know."

"How can you not know?" Stan shifts on his feet.

"We don't pay attention to birthdays." Token explains. "Do you know how old you are?"

Stan opens his mouth to say _of course. _Then he shuts it. Thinking about it, Stan has no idea how long he was in the coma. It could have been days, it could have been years. All he knows is that the day he woke up was the day the world went to Hell. "I don't know."

Token sighs. "I think I'm eighteen or nineteen."

Eighteen or nineteen. That means he was twelve when it happened. Since they are all born in the same year that means Stan is eighteen or nineteen too. "I think you are going to be nineteen this year." Stan comments.

"I may already be nineteen." Token confides in him. "I don't know if my birthday has passed already."

Before the two can speak anymore, Craig comes striding out of the circus tent. He still isn't carrying anything but he doesn't look angry about it. "Lets go home, boys." No explanation is given for why they went to Market or what happened in the tent. Stan still doesn't quite have the courage to ask; he's seen Kevin take plenty of beatings for insubordination.

The trio makes it to the edge of the fields without incident. Stan is trying to figure out just what went on in that tent but is not having much luck. Its silent except for the drone of insects. Then something whooshes past Stan's ear.

Token makes a pained noise.

Stan and Craig turn around. A short arrow is sticking out of Token's chest, just beneath his collarbone. Another arrow comes whistling through the air, skimming Craig's upper arm, before planting itself in the dirt.

They run. Stan's scars stretch in a strange way; he hasn't run since the day that Clyde and Token found him. Behind him Token is huffing for breath. Craig is fast on his feet but looks like he's trying not to leave them behind. The arrows don't stop until they are well in the orchard.

"Fucking bitch." Craig raises his middle finger in the direction of the farm.

Stan checks out the cut on his side, decides it isn't too bad. He looks at Craig, who seems okay despite the blood dripping down his arm. His dark blue gaze falls on Token, who is breathing shallowly. "You okay, dude?"

Token nods slowly. He looks like he is going to fall over.

Craig takes one side of the large teen, Stan takes the other. There is no way they will be able to navigate the maze like this, it isn't wide enough for three bodies. "Damn bitch." Craig curses again.

"Who was that?" Stan asks. He lets Craig take Token's weight when they reach the entrance to the maze. The noirette is full of nervous energy, his blood laced with adrenaline.

Someone sighs, it sounds like Craig. "Wendy owns the barn and fields."

Stan helps getting Token over the cat bell tripwire. He shouldn't be surprised, but he is. Wendy was always strong but he never thought that she would have carved a niche for herself in this world. "Who else lives with her?" Because there were multiple arrows being shot at them at the same time, Stan figures that someone must be with her. Besides, she wouldn't be able to keep that large of an optimum territory alone.

"Red. Bebe. Nichole." Craig says over Token's cough. "Hang in there, brother, we're almost home."

Token's only response is a dull chuckle.

"Uh. Annie, Beth, Heidi, and Tammy live there too." Craig continues. "The rest of the girls are prostitutes, slaves, or loners. Either way we don't see them much."

Stan wonders what happened to his sister. Now that he thinks of it, his mom didn't say anything about her. He turns a corner, ducks to avoid a cat wire at neck level.

"They group together to keep from being raped." Token stumbles over an exposed root. "Or they become nomads and spend most of their time hiding." Then he's silent.

_Well, that makes sense. _Then he thinks that its sad that that makes sense. Wendy probably hates this world more than she hated the one they lived in before. Stan lets out an inaudible sigh. They reach the camp a few minutes later. Stan rushes off to wake Jason. The brunette is up immediately when he hears what happened to Token.

* * *

Golden eyes watch Craig and Jason take Token to the medic shed. They flicker back to Stan, who is just standing in the middle of the clearing. Tweek perches on the roof of his bedroom, in a place between the pigeon spikes. His crossbow rests across his knees, a quiver of arrows slung across his back.

Craig goes to Stan, says something that has him scurrying to the storage cars. _You aren't his favorite anymore, Tweek. _Tweek watches Craig closely, waiting for the noirette to find him. Craig doesn't bother looking, just waves Tweek over before vanishing into his room.

The blond stands, slings his bow over his shoulder, and jumps down from the roof. He lands lightly, absorbing the shock of the impact in his calves and thighs. Tweek passes by the skinned dog, waving flies out of his face. Craig hasn't said it, but Tweek knows they are going hunting. That skinny dog won't feed eight growing teenage boys.

Craig and Stan stand side by side, so close their arms are almost brushing. Tweek narrows his eyes at the shorter noirette. He says nothing to either of them but Craig's stormy eyes are narrowed at the blond as though he knows what Tweek is thinking.

The walk to the River takes about five minutes. Before plunging in the trio stands on the shore, looking over at the other bank. It doesn't look much different from this side but over there they could be mauled to death. Thinking of Francis, Tweek sneaks a peek at Craig. _We could be mauled over here too._

Then he glances at Stan. Its Stan's first trip into dog territory since he washed up on their side of the River. Stan is pale as a ghost, dark blue eyes wide, breath coming in rapidly. "You had better g-get over your fear soon, Stan. Fear awakens the hunting instinct in the dogs." At Tweek's words, the noirette blanches.

"H-How many are there?" Stan whispers.

"Between eighty and a hundred." Tweek responds with a shrug. They don't keep close track of the dog population. All they know is that though they have seen no puppies and they kill at least four dogs a week, there are still plenty to replace them.

Stan sucks in a breath. It looks like he wants to run away.

Craig glares disapprovingly at Tweek. His eyes look more blue than gray. "The best way to face your fear is to face it." The tall noirette shoves Stan forward into the water. Without hesitation Tweek and Craig follow Stan into the cold water.

Tweek is up to his waist in water at the middle of the River. The two taller teens – both of whom have at least a foot on the blond – are wet only to their thighs. That's as deep as the River gets. On the other side there is no talking. They don't bother to hide their presence but talking is distracting.

Tweek scouts a few yards ahead, an arrow strung across his bow. There are dog tracks everywhere, most of them old. He follows them around, zigzagging and keeping low to the ground. A few specks of blood and tufts of fur tell the blond that something was injured or died here. He moves a few feet to the right and finds a splatter of dried blood beneath a low-hanging pine. They probably caught a rabbit and fought over it.

Around the kill site are piles of dog shit. Tweek wrinkles his nose and suffers through it. Maybe they will get lucky and a dog will have come back looking for scraps. Movement from the corner of his eye. Golden eyes snap to the left where a lone dog is sniffing the ground.

Its pointed ears are pricked, its tail held high. From this distance Tweek sees that its thick coat is mostly white with some sort of black markings, like Dalmatian spots. A hide that nice will fetch a good price in the market. Or they could keep it because the teeth are worth money too. In any case, Craig will want this one in tact.

Tweek takes aim, moving slowly so as to not startle the dog. The dog looks directly at him. Tweek lets his arrow fly. It goes through the dog's left eye, killing it instantly. Before Tweek can properly get to his feet, there is a low growl behind him. _Shit. _He can't reach for an arrow without the dog behind him attacking and he forgot to bring his knife.

All of a sudden there is a yelp. Tweek whips around to see a rather plain brown dog with a blade poking out of its chest. Gold eyes follow the katana up through the dog's body to Craig's face. "Your life is worth more than a pretty pelt."

Tweek feels his heart skip a beat. He feels panic threaten to wash over him like a tidal wave. Craig keeps eye contact with him and the fear slowly dissipates. "My knife i-is at home doing a whole lot of fucking good – nngh – beneath my pillow."

Craig doesn't say anything more to Tweek. Instead he turns to Stan, standing wide-eyed behind the other noirette. "This is why we go out together." He points to the dead spotted dog. "Go get that. Tweek will watch your back."

Tweek notches another arrow, pointing it in the general direction Stan trots off in. "Bring back my arrow." He calls after the noirette. While Craig frees his weapon from the dog's body, Tweek glances at him. "Thanks."

"Keep your eyes on Stan." Craig doesn't look up. He examines the skinny dog and seems pleased at least to have killed more than one. "Your welcome." The noirette adds quietly.

Tweek watches Stan toe the dog with his boot and rolls his eyes. Then Stan has the dog thrown over his shoulder and is walking back, arrow in hand. "That was an amazing shot!" Stan gushes. "I didn't know you could do that." Tweek takes his arrow without comment, wiping the gore off in a patch of clover before returning it to its quiver.

The noirettes carry the dead dogs back. Tweek watches their backs as long as they are on the dog side of the River. Once they are back in their own territory its like taking a breath of fresh air. Their pace increases until they are trotting through the maze on their way back to camp.

* * *

As he trots through the maze of high stacked cars, Craig increases his pace. He's had the feeling that something is wrong for a while now and its only getting worse the longer he is away from camp. The noirette adjusts the dead dog over his shoulders and unsheathes his katana.

Finally, Craig can't take it anymore. He breaks into a run. Granted, its not the smartest thing to run with a weapon in hand, but he has to get back to camp. The first thing he notices is that the car hood has been moved to the side. Either the patrols are back or someone else has been here. He throws the dog down in the dust as soon as he clears the fence.

Jimmy lays in the dirt on his back. A pool of blood circles his head like a grotesque halo. The leader is at his side in an instant, feeling the bald teen's neck for a pulse. At first he thinks that Jimmy is dead...then he feels a faint beat against his fingers.

Behind him Craig hears a gasp – that would be Stan. From the corner of his eye he sees Tweek going through the compound, an arrow strung and waiting to be let loose into the heart of the first person he comes across. Now that he knows Jimmy is alive, Craig examines the body for the wound. He can't see anything but judging from the blood, its a head wound.

Carefully Craig rolls the handicapped teen onto his side. The back of Jimmy's skull has been bashed in. There is a shallow dent as wide as a softball. Craig remembers one time his baby sister rolled off the counter. He was frantic with worry at the lump swelling on her head but his parents told him that she would be fine. Its when the bump is a dent that you have to worry. Even if by some miracle Jimmy survives this, he's going to have brain damage. "Fuck."

"Craig! Jason!" Tweek's voice rings across the clearing where the med shack is.

Craig hesitates then gently rolls Jimmy onto his back again. The bald teen gives a small groan but doesn't open his eyes. There isn't anything he can do at the moment, so the noirette walks away. He glances at Stan, who has set down the dog he was carrying. The noirette doesn't seem to be doing anything so Craig waves him over.

Together they go to the med shack. Jason is sitting up holding his arm. He has a lump the size of an egg on the side of his head. Tweek sits beside him, examining the brunette's arm. "What happened?"

"They attacked us!" Jason winces when Tweek experimentally pokes his forearm. "I was doing inventory," Craig glances at the scattered supplies on the ground. There is some medicine missing. "They came out of nowhere. I blocked them with my arm. Then they hit me in the head and I blacked out."

"They must have thought you were both dead." Craig mutters. Louder he asks, "Did you see them?"

Jason is nodding slowly. "It was Kyle and Cartman."

* * *

_Kyle and Cartman. Kyle and Cartman. Kyle did this? Kyle is the reason that Jimmy is laying in a pool of his own blood?_ Stan can't believe it. Yet at the same time he can. The two of them had been getting more and more violent, which was why Stan left all those years ago.

The leader is looking at him, silver eyes shining with suspicion. The look only lasts a moment before Craig is focused on Jason again. "How bad is it?"

Jason shrugs the shoulder of his good arm. "I think its just a fracture."

Craig nods. "Tweek, help him with his arm then take care of Jimmy." Craig stands up to face the other noirette. "We're going to get the others."

The noirette follows the taller teen out of the medic shed. "So. How long ago did you last see Kyle and Fatass?" Craig's voice isn't accusatory but Stan isn't fooled.

Stan's heart sinks. He doesn't like where this is going. That he would be considered traitor never even crossed his mind. "Its been five years." They walk past Jimmy lying presumably unconscious on the ground. Stan adverts his eyes.

"You sure about that?" When he asks there is something strange about Craig's eyes. They seem bluer somehow.

"I'm sure!" Stan snaps. "Isn't swearing loyalty to you enough?" There is something terrible about swearing loyalty to Craig that Stan can't put his finger on. Maybe its embarrassment the young noirette feels.

Craig doesn't respond immediately. They exit the compound, weapons at the ready. "They happened to come at a time when we are at our weakest."

"How were we at our weakest?!" Stan groans. "Jason and Jimmy were there." They step over a cat bell wire. From the sound of it they were attacked without warning, which meant that Kyle and Cartman took their time getting there.

"And the rest of us were out of earshot if they happened to yell." Craig points out. The tall leader navigates the maze of rusting cars quickly, checking for anything out of the ordinary.

Stan is still reeling from the venture into dog territory and the attack on their camp – being accused of orchestrating the past month and the attack is insane. Yet he can understand how Craig reached that conclusion; if he was leader he would have come to it too. "I was with you the entire time, Craig." Stan pleads his case, suddenly remembering that he's wearing the jeans of a dead man.

Craig grunts in response. Its not encouraging. They hear voices and freeze like deer in headlights.

From around the corner comes Kevin, stopping just in time to not be skewered by Craig's katana. His light brown eyes are wide with fear. "Whoa!" Clyde and Token just barely stop themselves from running into the Asian-American noirette.

"The camp was attacked." Craig informs them. He doesn't mention Jimmy being nearly dead or Jason's fractured bone. "Did you notice anything unusual?" All three of them shake their heads in the negative. "Lets get back home."

"We got everything you asked for." Token tries to lighten the tense mood that has suddenly descended. All three of them are shouldering back packs.

Craig nods. "Good. We'll go back to Market tomorrow. We need to replace the medicine they stole." The noirette leads the way back to camp, explaining about Kyle and Cartman. There are unsettled grumbles but no one really knows what to say. This hasn't happened before.

Back at camp Craig knocks twice on the car hood. He knocks five more times. Then another three times. The five of them wait for Tweek to slide back the hood enough for them to slip in. Stan helps the blond close it behind them. "T-they stole our dog too." Tweek reports.

That's why the flies are around the pool of blood where Jimmy lay instead of swarming the dog carcass; its not there anymore. Craig is silent for a few moments. He looks at each boy in turn. "Meat and medicine." He repeats more to himself than to the others.

* * *

Token stands beside the newest member of their group, alternating between watching him and Craig. The tall teenager frowns as his eyes survey the camp. His home has been raided. This has never happened before, not even when it was just him and Craig. Token knows what Craig is thinking, that it might be Stan who is behind the attack.

Stan has never been the best actor and now he's standing there looking shell-shocked. Token doesn't think it was him. Besides, Stan was nearly dead when they found him. Facing the dogs is a lot to go through just for some medicine and dog meat. Token directs his dark eyes at Jason. "Are you sure it was only Kyle and Cartman?"

That it was the two of them, Token doesn't doubt. What he does doubt is that they are loners. Jason is nodding. The brunette medic's arm is bandaged but it looks too thin to keep the bone together. Token heard the screams when Tweek realigned Jason's bones to maximize the healing process. Jason is bearing through all of this without pain medication, since that's what was stolen. "I didn't see anyone else."

Token catches Craig's eye. "Meat I can understand, since they are probably too lazy to hunt their own." He crosses his arms in front of his broad chest. "But pain medicine? One of them must be injured or someone with them must be injured."

"They didn't act injured." Jason mutters loud enough for all of them to hear.

They all jump when Kevin steps on a stick, snapping it. "Sorry." He gasps out, holding a hand to his heart. Nervous laughter goes around the group.

Craig's eyes are narrowed in the way that means he's unhappy with something. "This isn't something to laugh about!" The tan fingertips of the leader are sparking like static. "Jason is hurt, Jimmy is dying," The boys wince as one, no one wanted to admit that. "We've had our walls penetrated, meat stolen, medicine stolen." Craig's eyes are electric blue now; he's really pissed off.

"What do you want to do, Craig?" Token asks calmly. Someone has to keep their head here. "I think we should let them go. Its getting dark and they could be miles from here by now." He watches Craig take a deep breath. The blue light fades. Then it flares up again.

A bolt of blue lightning leaps from Craig's fingertips, aimed directly at Token. Token moves fast – but not fast enough. His left wrist gets the worst of it. White hot pain and a strange tingling. The dark-skinned teen grits his teeth and shudders.

When he glares at Craig, he sees the other's eyes are still shockingly blue. "Who is leader?"

Token bows his head in submission. "You are, Craig." In the dying light he examines the wound. There is blood and a star-burst shape. It hurts as much this time as last time when Craig shot him in the back. _We don't even have any pain meds._

* * *

Kevin's heart beats so loudly in his chest that he barely hears Craig's order to butcher the dogs. He stares through the curtain of black hair that covers his face. The display Craig put on a month ago had been enough to scare him but this is different. Token didn't actually i_do_/i anything to deserve...that. Just now Kevin is realizing how lucky he was to escape with only a nick from the knife.

Quickly Kevin pulls his knife from his boot and heads over to the dogs. Both animals are strung up on the telephone wire by their back legs. Tweek is already working on carefully removing the pelt from the spotted dog. The brown dog is butchered without the same care that the spotted dog is given; her hide isn't worth anything. Kevin gets two buckets from the storage shed and sets them beneath the dogs.

Clyde helps the noirette slice off slabs of meat which they pile in a plastic container on the ground beside Stan. When the container is full Stan kicks another empty one in its place, picks up the full one, and hauls it over to where Craig is making a fire. They will cook all of the meat to either eat now or be made into jerky.

Kevin doesn't pay much attention to them. He focuses on his blade sliding through slick meat, on tossing it so that it lands in the container. His mind is all over the place, but mostly he's wondering where Kyle and Cartman got the balls to raid Craig. Even if it wasn't Craig's, this place is a fortress; one way in and one way out. They could have got lost in the maze or run into a returning group. And they were carrying a dog. _How did they do it?_

A part of Kevin wants desperately to get out from under Craig's rule. He doesn't like being ordered around and treated like dirt. He doesn't like wondering when their leader is going to lash out or kill one of them, like he did with Francis. The noirette grinds his teeth in anger. There wasn't any reason to kill Francis.

With the two of them tackling the dog, it doesn't take long to finish butchering it. The sun is down so they are doing it by firelight now. The temperature has dropped five degrees. The blood on Kevin's hands is cooling now – and so is the carcass.

It takes two hours to finish the job. Most of the meat has been tucked away safely where the rats can't get to it. The last container-full will be cooked and they will eat it. Tweek wraps the other dog carcass in a shower curtain so they can properly cut it up tomorrow.

They eat the hot meat with their hands. Dog is lean and tough. It tastes a little like cow, but not really. Kevin stares into the fire while the others chat quietly around him. If there are just two of them – and even if there aren't – they would be strong allies to have.


End file.
